FINCH: You are being watched.
The government has a secret system,
a machine that spies on you every hour of every day.
I designed The Machine to detect acts of terror but it sees everything,
violent crimes involving ordinary people.
The government considers these people irrelevant. We don't.
Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret.
You'll never find us,
but victim or perpetrator, if your number's up, we'll find you.
(ELECTRONIC CHATTER)
(CELL PHONE VIBRATING)
WOMAN (ON PA): Your attention, please.
Flight 763 to Istanbul has been oversold.
Passengers who do not yet have a seat assignment
should check with the agent at Gate 39.
I'm so sorry, Mr. Wiley, we've had to bump you.
I can get you on the next non-stop to Istanbul tomorrow morning.
But I'm told there's a problem with the server.
- How many bags did you check? - No baggage.
Oh, here we go. It looks like the system's back up.
I see your previous reservation was for a one-way ticket.
Would you like to purchase the return leg now?
I'm not sure when I'll be back.
You're in luck.
A seat just opened up on a flight with a stopover in Rome.
- And it's first class. - Done.
- Gate 33, seat 1 D. Enjoy your flight. - Thank you.
Mr. Wiley, we have some newlyweds on their honeymoon
who would really love to sit together.
- Would you mind changing seats? - Sure... Holly.
I'll show you to your new seat. Right here.
I'll be the attendant in First Class.
Is there anything I can get for you right now?
- Something to drink? - No, I'm fine, thanks.
MAN: No.
No, I told Jerry to walk away.
Yeah, well, sometimes, you got to leave the money on the table.
You make them think you don't need it.
Such a gentlemen, thank you.
Hey, that's my Tumi that you're sliding over.
Try not to smash it.
Right, basic negotiation tactics.
Used to be, people dressed up to fly.
Gentlemen required to wear a jacket and tie.
Not that a man needs to wear a suit but...
Charge!
Holly? On second thought, scotch rocks would be great.
No problem.
Don't worry about that.
Of course, Jerry's gonna listen to me.
Because Jerry always listens to me.
MAN (ON RADIO): A victory for the FBI today
as they busted a major online drug market.
(DOWN-TEMPO MUSIC PLAYING)
Sir, the forward door has been closed.
You'll need to turn off your phone.
One sec. Listen, sweetheart...
...if you ever bother to pick up a scientific journal,
you'd know that all this electronic interference stuff
is really just a bunch of BS.
So why don't you hop yourself back up there
and tell them that we can go while I take my call?
Okay.
MAN: Sorry, Frank, some idiot stewardess.
Mind giving me a hand here, Carlos?
Sorry, got my hands full with coach. You wanted first, remember?
Excuse me, sir...
Oh.
Looks like he talked himself out. Bet he could use a blanket.
MAN: Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached 10,000 feet.
It is now safe to use all approved electronic devices.
(CELL PHONE VIBRATING)
MAN: Got to hit the head.
Did you need something, Mr. Wiley?
Just stretching my legs.
(THUD)
(EXHALES)
Guy's been in there a while. Might wanna try the one in back.
- Yes? - REESE: Finch?
Mr. Reese, where are you? And why are you calling over VoIP?
You tell me. You're the one who put me here.
- We can't keep doing this, Finch. - Put you where? Doing what?
Overbooking my flight, changing my seat.
Are you on a plane?
With two federal marshals and their transport.
I told you. No more missions, no more numbers.
While I don't agree with your decision to leave,
I certainly respect it.
I did not send you on a mission, Mr. Reese.
Then who put me on this flight?
(INDISTINCT RADIO CHATTER)
(ELECTRONIC CHATTER)
An incapacitated marshal with a missing weapon?
That definitely does not look good, Mr. Reese.
It definitely doesn't look like a coincidence either.
You're telling me you didn't get a number?
I didn't. Believe me when I tell you, Mr. Reese,
I did not put you in your current predicament.
- Why else would I be on this plane? - I can only hazard a guess.
You're there because The Machine put you there.
Guess your machine didn't get my letter of resignation, Harold.
Give it a message for me, will you? I quit.
Message received, Mr. Reese.
But what do you plan to do about the unconscious marshal in the lavatory?
That's not my problem.
A loose firearm in a plane full of civilians most certainly is.
You said there were two marshals. Where's the second?
Keeping an eye on their transport.
Guy's sitting in 4C, the same seat The Machine sent me.
It appears there may be an accessory on that flight,
one who is now armed. I don't suppose you are too?
Even if I were, I wouldn't risk
firing a weapon on a commercial flight.
Bullet hits a window, plane will depressurize in seconds.
So how do you plan to control the situation?
I don't. Because I'm not accepting the mission.
I'll tell the marshal what happened to his co-worker.
Whatever happens next is his problem, not mine.
(BOY MIMICKING GUNFIRE)
- Move it, buddy. - Titus, come here.
(REESE CLEARS THROAT)
I don't know who this guy is you're transporting or what he's done...
Hey, what I've allegedly clone.
Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to refrain from engaging with this man.
I'm sorry. He engaged with me.
No, I corrected you. There's a difference.
Your partner's out cold in the forward latrine
and his weapon's missing.
Someone may be trying to help your transport here escape.
What's with the conspiracy theories, Mr. Dark and Stormy?
I am not trying to escape.
Okay, as much as I love sucking in this re-circulated MRSA air,
- there is nothing I... - Quiet.
Look, I don't know who you are or if you're trying to pull something
but I know this isn't your business.
I need you to get your ass up and return to your seat, immediately.
You're right.
This isn't any of my business.
Have a nice day, Marshal.
(GROANING)
Got a message for you, canalla. Raphael sends his regards.
(MAN YELLS) (GRUNTS)
Agh! He just stabbed me. (GROANING)
Is he...?
Drugged. He'll live. Here.
"Lanceros."
HOLLY: Everything all right here?
REESE: Oh, must've mixed his anxiety meds with his booze.
Probably dehydrated.
- He'll sleep it off. - And the marshal is dehydrated too?
Hard for some people to stay awake on a red-eye.
Wish I had that problem.
- Do you have any more blankets? - Sure.
And a couple of whiskeys, neat.
Sure, just throw him over there.
Hey, don't take this the wrong way but who the hell are you?
A concerned frequent flyer.
Here you go.
Thank you, Holly.
- I owe you an apology. - Owen. Owen Matthews.
- You weren't trying to escape. - What tipped you off?
Was it my word or the violent psychopath
who stabbed me with a syringe?
It's a coagulant, to trigger a pulmonary embolism.
He wanted to make your death look like deep vein thrombosis.
Natural causes. He's a pro.
You seem really sure of that.
That's what I would've done on a plane anyway.
Here, drink these. It'll thin out your blood.
I don't drink hard alcohol only red wine and in moderation.
We've got eight hours before we land this bird.
Someone wants to make sure you don't make it off this plane alive.
So you might as well have yourself a couple of drinks.
(CELL PHONE RINGS) Yes, Mr. Reese?
Owen Matthews was the intended victim. I sent you a picture.
Perp's got a tattoo. He's a Lancero, Colombian paramilitary.
Kind of like our rangers,
only some of them wind up on the cartel payroll.
Nothing on the guy's cell identifies his boss.
But I'm sure you'll find out.
The two marshals on board your flight
helped bust an online market in illegal substances,
called the "Black Market Bazaar."
Think of it as eBay for narcotics on the Darknet.
Customers could get anything from a dime bag of marijuana
to a kilogram of heroin delivered to their door within 24 hours.
Oh, how does everybody stay out of jail?
The Black Market Bazaar only accepts Bitcoins,
a digital crypto-currency.
The site was developed by an unknown mastermind
who calls himself "The Sphinx."
He's still at large and wanted by every agency
from the DEA to INTERPOL.
Transport must know something.
Owen works for the company that hosted the site.
It would appear that his job has placed him in grave danger.
(OWEN HUMMING)
Why were those two marshals transporting you?
Funny story.
So I'm sitting at my kitchen table this morning,
having my breakfast, toast, dry. Butter's bad for your heart.
Almost as bad as a cartel hit man.
Which is no doubt related to Marshals Crockett and Tubbs
infiltrating my kitchen to detain me as a critical witness
in this black market case.
Five hours later, I'm on a flight to Europe
with Mr. Blanket Cover-Up
to testify in some sort of international court.
So, what do you know about the Black Market Bazaar?
The company I work for hosts the site.
But I'm just a programmer. No bonuses, no benefits.
They don't even pay for my flu shot. I'm a nobody.
A trained killer doesn't just go after a nobody.
You better hope he doesn't have any friends on this flight.
I'm telling you, they got the wrong guy.
Whatever's going on here, I'm irrelevant.
(ELECTRONIC CHATTER)
You wanted to see me? (GASPS)
Would it be too much to ask you to snap a twig or...
Not my thing. We get a new number?
No, but Mr. Reese did.
Owen Matthews. He's on a plane with him now.
On a plane with a number? You engineer that, Harold?
I assure you, I had nothing to do
with his claustrophobic circumstance, Ms. Shaw,
which presents us another troubling situation.
(WHIMPERING)
What's going on?
You need me to do something you don't want me to do.
I need you to visit your former colleagues.
The Activity?
The people that want me dead.
(SCOFFS) Mind if I ask why?
I fear the number that Mr. Reese received is relevant.
There's a relevant number on the plane?
So what's the other side gonna do about it?
That's exactly what I want to know, Ms. Shaw.
Perhaps then we can figure out why The Machine put John there.
(ELECTRONIC CHATTER)
(CELL PHONE RINGING) Mr. Reese?
Any progress on ID'ing our Colombian hit man's employer?
I'm afraid not. I had hoped to hear from Ms. Shaw.
I sent her to visit her former colleagues with the ISA.
The ISA? Why?
- It was regarding Owen Matthews. - Owen Matthews is a relevant number.
- How long have you known? - I don't know anything for sure.
I just couldn't figure out why they would consider
a mid-level programmer relevant, so I sent Ms. Shaw to investigate.
And you didn't tell me anything. Just like your machine, Finch.
You have all the information, you just won't share it.
Why are you relevant to National Security, Owen?
Would you hit your call button? I really want some almonds.
You're not a nobody. You're wearing a stun belt.
And a stun belt has a remote. Hand it over.
Okay, but I'm not kidding about those almonds though.
At high altitudes, my blood sugar drops to dangerously low levels...
(ELECTRICITY CRACKLING) (MUFFLED SCREAMING)
(GROANING)
Why are you relevant to National Security, Owen?
Funny story, I may have downplayed my whole role
in the black market thing before.
I might be a little more than just a programmer.
- Tell me about it. - I don't like to brag.
No, no, no. You seem like an angry guy.
Do you wanna talk about that?
I feel like you wanna talk about that.
Okay, okay, okay. Fine.
The Black Market Bazaar. I built it, okay?
I'm a really good designer and the Sphinx asked for me personally.
He even brought me this coffee that is so hard to...
- Hold on, hold on. - You've seen the Sphinx?
Yeah. Smart guy. Little misunderstood,
- but he has a vision. - Enlighten me.
He started the site because the war on drugs was already lost.
Cartels, corner boys, turf wars...
The site just cuts out the middle man.
- For a price. - A small transaction fee.
No harm, no foul and people stop killing each other.
Ever occur to you that the Sphinx might be the one who wants you dead?
What? No, we're pals. Why would he wanna kill me?
Because you, my friend, might be the only one who can identify him.
(CELL PHONE BUZZING)
- Yeah? - I've identified your hit man's boss.
Raphael Hernandez, cartel kingpin
and one of the Black Market Bazaar's largest suppliers.
I still can't find Raphael's connection to Owen.
No need. Owen built the entire site.
He can identify the Sphinx.
Which means he could also identify all the Sphinx's accounts.
And if Owen testifies, he could jeopardize
Raphael's business as well.
None of which explains why he's relevant to National Security.
Let Shaw worry about that.
Right now, you and I need to find out
if this Colombian hit man has a partner in crime.
Hey, where you going? The ride's getting pretty bumpy.
They're gonna turn the seat belt sign on any second.
Sorry, Owen. Got to let you fly solo for a little while.
- But I'm like a sitting duck. - That's the idea.
Hello, Holly.
Could I get a glass of wine for our friend in the back?
- He's afraid of flying. - Yes, of course.
- Is everything okay? - Fine.
It's just, the marshals. One of them's out cold,
the other one hasn't come out of the lav.
And you look like a nice enough guy, but...
John Wilkinson, Department of International Homeland Security.
International Home...? What?
- Do I need to update the captain? - Oh, no, no, no, you can't.
Right now, everyone on this plane is a suspect
- and I need your help. - Help with what?
Keeping everyone calm, preferably asleep.
Lights out, lots of decaf.
Okay, I can do that. Anything else?
Keep an eye on the suspect.
If he gets up, just hit this button. It'll summon me.
MAN: Ladies and gentlemen,
the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign.
Everyone should return to their seats
and remain seated with their seat belts fastened.
(MAN AND WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE)
We control the price of X, not the Sphinx.
(YELLS) (GROANING)
Huh?
Guess the honeymoon's over.
Oops.
(INDISTINCT RADIO CHATTER)
- We were just closing. - SHAW: Of course, you were.
Because who the hell uses a travel agency anymore?
I must've gotten 100 itineraries from this place,
but I never actually thought it existed.
The Activity bothers to keep a storefront with posters
and dead plants. Charming.
I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about...
Oh, you're right to be afraid.
Because I've done a little reverse engineering
since Catalyst tried to kill me.
Made a list, checked it twice. Who's naughty? Who's nice?
And you definitely haven't played nice.
(GULPS)
It's nice to meet you in person, Foster.
I'd introduce myself but you already know my name.
Say it. I'll wait.
- Shaw. - Good.
And my partner?
Cole.
And you're the facilitating son of a bitch
who sent us to New York from Berlin.
You booked the reservations
but I'm the only one who made it back alive.
I don't know what you're talking about.
What I'm talking about is you're the one person who knows
where every ISA team is dispatched.
You book their travel. You sent a team of six after us
and the next trip you booked had us coming home in a casket.
Except I'm still here.
So, Mr. Facilitator,
when was the last time you were out from behind the desk?
The way I see it, you owe me a favor
and I'm calling it in.
Owen Matthews is on a flight to Rome right now.
Why is this man relevant to National Security?
You play dumb with me one more time, I'm gonna make you eat this tie.
Except right before you digest it
I'm gonna pull it back out and we're gonna do this all over again.
I never know what the target's done,
I just know that they sent an operative.
- Give me a number. - Indigo Six Alpha.
(THUMPS)
Heard a ruckus. Everything okay?
Newlyweds decided to join the mile-high club.
First Class problem. This one's all you.
Let me help you. Let's get you patched up.
I should notify the pilot. What if those people wake up?
They won't.
I borrowed some sleeping pills from the old lady sitting next to me.
(CELL PHONE VIBRATING) Look, I have to take this.
Can you keep an eye on Owen for me?
Colombians aren't the only ones who want Owen dead.
A couple of ex-Mossad agents aren't too fond of him either.
I don't suppose they told you why.
Something about the price of ecstasy and then they stuck a fork in me.
- A fork? - Any idea why they went after Owen?
Israeli criminals control Europe's MDMA trade.
I can't imagine that they would welcome competition
from an online drug market.
Starting to wonder who on this plane doesn't want Owen dead.
I'm afraid Ms. Shaw has more bad news.
(MUFFLED YELLING, THUMPING)
ISA has an operative on the flight, Indigo Six Alpha.
You ask your contact what that means?
Didn't have to. I was Indigo Five Alpha.
That guy has my old job and he's there to kill Owen.
You get the operative's description?
Tall, dark, badass in a suit. Sound familiar?
Got to go.
(GRUNTS) Oh, God.
(MUFFLED YELLING)
Excuse me.
Have a seat.
(GASPING) Whoa.
I need the zip ties you keep for unruly passengers,
a blanket for this guy
- and a shot of whiskey. - For who?
Put it in his sippy cup. One finger.
- I have to go to the bathroom. - Why don't we go find your mommy?
Owen?
(ELECTRONIC CHATTER)
The captain says we can't divert. There's nowhere to land.
- Breathe, Holly. - I can't.
Then drink.
(SLURPS, GROANS)
I could've been a teacher.
But, no, I wanted to see the world, meet interesting people.
There's plenty of interesting people on this plane.
All trying to kill each other.
Which I get because you know what this job has taught me?
- That people are horrible. - I know what you mean.
Even the pilots call me "Sweetheart, Doll Face."
And the other flight attendants?
Carlos is a selfish idiot who doesn't know what the hell he's doing.
Whatever happened to people helping other people?
Holly, I hate to tell you this.
You're good at your job.
That's so nice of you. Thank you for that.
- And for saving me from that maniac. - He was just trying to kill Owen.
Where is Owen? How did he disappear?
(OWEN SNEEZES) He didn't.
Hey, guys. I wasn't trying to escape or anything.
I was actually trying to sleep in my seat.
But I got this terrible... Oh, a pinched nerve in my lower back.
It must be sciatica or something.
It was like someone was stabbing me in the back.
You can probably relate to... (GRUNTS)
Sorry, sometimes it's just faster.
- Why does everyone want him dead? - He's relevant to National Security.
Right, just like you work
for the International Department of Homeland Security.
- What do you really do? - Nothing. I quit my job.
- Didn't like your boss? - I didn't like my boss's boss.
Just take us to the cargo hold and we won't cause any more problems.
FINCH: Good evening, Ms. Shaw.
Have you been able to determine why the ISA wants Owen Matthews dead?
Working on it. Meeting up with an old friend for coffee.
(GROANING)
Oh, damn it.
Hey, going through other people's stuff? That's not cool.
- What are you looking for? - A safety razor, maybe. Hair spray.
Dude, your hair looks fine.
That salt and pepper thing's like catnip to soccer moms.
Go au naturel.
REESE: Took care of the ISA operative.
Still not sure if The Machine sent me
or if this guy's worth saving.
You're scheduled to land in two hours.
Ms. Shaw is still in the process of finding out
why ISA wants Owen dead.
ISA, Colombians, Israelis,
all want the head of a lowly website designer...
...instead of a... mastermind.
See, I hate it when you look at me like that. It's not polite.
You didn't just build the site.
You know how it works, where the money's at.
Okay, look, I'm not a moron, all right?
I socked away a few funds, diverted some accounts.
Something else you wanna tell me, Owen?
Okay, okay. Fine, fine. Don't tase me, bro.
I didn't just build the site.
I'm the guy-
You're the Sphinx.
I created a business model from my bedroom
that revolutionized an international market
and cut violence in the drug trade by half. You're welcome.
Yeah, people are just lining up to thank you.
It's okay. I have a plan.
Okay, I have 100 million bucks in Bitcoins.
You get me off this plane and past INTERPOL in one piece,
I'll split it with you. Good deal, right?
You think you're a mastermind.
Hey, that's the media's word, not mine.
You computer guys, you build something you can't control,
and when it backfires, you won't accept responsibility.
What are we talking about here?
Have you really made anything better?
Does it look like, you've stopped the violence?
Okay, are we still talking about me?
Because it seems like, you're mad at somebody else.
(APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS)
(NECK CRACKING)
I thought you got rid of that walking steroid.
Guess not.
Dizzy? Tongue a little itchy?
Shaw.
You once taught me that an operative should always wet their lips
and wait for symptoms before drinking anything.
Scopolamine.
Tachycardia will be setting in shortly. Fatigue, amnesia...
I know what the drug does.
You're conscious but you've been rendered completely docile.
- I'm on a job right now. - You were.
Guy with the glasses and the laptop, right?
That was the number you were supposed to kill tonight?
I trained you well. Too well.
I always liked you, Hersh. Even after you killed me.
You put an ISA operative on a flight to kill this guy.
Why?
He built the biggest narcotics marketplace on the Darknet.
Billion dollars in sales.
You can't stop the drug trade but you can tax it.
Tax it? Since when?
We were on to the Sphinx a year ago.
But when it comes to funding our operation,
the black budget only goes so far. So we took 30 percent off the top.
So why take him out now?
Nobody asks how we keep the country safe.
But they'll start if that kid goes public.
National Security risk.
And that flight is a perfect window of opportunity.
Well, I think you might have some competition on the plane.
Shaw, your new employers...
- Mm-hm? - ...are they treating you okay?
They haven't tried to kill me yet.
I could've killed you tonight, Hersh, and I didn't.
Too bad you won't remember any of this.
(GROANING)
OWEN: Whoa!
(GRUNTING)
Not the face!
(SCREAMING)
Fore.
Nice shot.
Mr. Reese, it seems that the ISA
took a mutually beneficial financial interest
in the Black Market Bazaar
which they could ill afford to have come out.
Still doesn't explain why The Machine put me on this plane.
I didn't program The Machine
to detect national embarrassments, Mr. Reese.
I designed it to prevent a national tragedy.
You're saying they missed something?
They aren't the only ones who want Owen dead.
Raphael Hernandez once blew up an entire floor of a hotel in Medellin
to prevent a witness from testifying.
Well, I already took out Raphael's hit man.
I've accessed his e-mail.
Raphael has ordered his team to take out Owen
by any means necessary,
even if it means taking down the plane.
Well, how many hit squad members were on that e-mail?
Two. Colombian paramilitary.
There's another Lancero on board.
But I checked the manifest, every passenger.
He's not a passenger, Finch.
Good evening, Captain.
(GUNSHOT) (SCREAMING)
(INDISTINCT RADIO CHATTER)
(ELECTRONIC CHATTER)
He's lost a lot of blood.
If we don't get him to the hospital in the next hour, he's a goner.
I heard something, saw Carlos enter the cockpit.
It's locked. No response from the intercom.
The plane's banking. We're losing altitude.
And I can't contact the tower.
Knew there was something off about that guy.
It's because he's not a flight attendant.
He's a professional assassin, paratrooper.
- He's taking us down. - I need you to get me in there now.
He's overridden the code.
The situation's critical, Finch. Can you help us?
I'm trying to get into the flight management system
through the plane's satellite link.
- Where is Owen? - Stashed in the cargo hold.
I'm gonna need to borrow this.
Mr. Reese, I've gotten into the FMS.
It appears that he's disabled the autopilot.
I can't seem to override the manual operator.
You ever flown a plane this size before?
Heavens no, props only. This is a commercial jumbo jet.
Somebody's gonna have to stick the landing.
Putting you on speaker.
Excuse me. Can I have some water, please?
Mr. Reese?
Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing a bit of turbulence.
The captain asks that everyone remain seated at this time.
Make sure your tray tables are up and all seat belts are fastened.
Oh, my God! What's happening?
(PEOPLE WHIMPERING NERVOUSLY)
(ALARM BUZZING)
- Mr. Reese, who's flying the plane? - Need a little help, Finch.
(GRUNTING OVER TRANSMITTER)
Oh, dear.
- Finch, we're going down. - Hold on tight, Mr. Reese.
Stick and rudder, stick and rudder.
Small corrections. Wings level.
Airspeed and altitude.
Take us home, Finch.
Keep it level. Keep it level.
I'm coming in too hot. I'm gonna belong.
There might be a bounce.
(PASSENGERS CHEERING)
You hear that, Finch?
That's for you. Yeah, you just stuck this bird.
Thank you, Mr. Reese. How about Owen?
The only relevant number on this plane is 130 people.
Grazie. Arrivederci
- So what is it you really do again? - I help people.
You wanna help me get a drink?
(OWEN GRUNTS)
Man, do you think you could've stuffed me into a case that breathed?
Next time, just throw a garbage bag over my head
- and stick me in a casket. - Here.
Go to this address.
Stay there until you hear from a man named Harold.
Harold? The guy on the phone?
You're out of business. Stay off the grid.
Do not reach out to anyone you once knew.
Well, what if I wanna send you something,
repay you for all you've done?
I'm not in it for the money, Owen.
You almost say that like it's your job, which would be insane.
Well, whatever you're in it for, good on you, man.
I appreciate you saving my neck.
- Thanks for meeting me. - Thanks for the drink.
Well, I hope you get a better crew to work with on your return flight.
Give me a call if you're ever back in the city.
- Ciao. - Ciao.
- She seems nice. - You track me down, Harold?
Just flew in to get Owen situated with a new identity and destination.
- Is that it? - Prego.
Grazie.
Mr. Reese, I understand your frustration
with the opacity of The Machine.
But there's a reason I chose to make it that way.
The Machine only gives us numbers
because I would always rather
that a human element remain
in determining something so critical as someone's fate.
We have free will.
And with that comes great responsibility...
...and sometimes great loss.
I miss her dearly, too.
(CLEARS THROAT)
- When are you leaving? - Soon.
I thought I would go see this exhibit
at the Giorgio DE Chirico house museum.
An artist that Grace was very fond of.
You're welcome to join me.
I'm not sure I can, Finch.
While I'm in Italy, I thought I'd get fitted for a new suit.
Oh, of course. We should call my atelier in the via Palestro.
See if Gianni could fit you in after lunch. He's the best.
I thought maybe, I could hitch a ride back with you.
I'm not quite ready to fly commercial yet, so...
But I need to get back to work.
Certainly, Mr. Reese.
I know the pilot.
I think we could delay that flight.
(English US - SDH)